The Beholder
by WitchPencil
Summary: Neal is bored, but when a new case comes his way, he and Peter have to help the homicide division of the FBI track down a serial killer that likes pretty things. **Under construction**
1. Chapter 1

**A/n: **OK, so I've revisited a few chapters of my story that needed going over. Hope all my readers will appreciate the changes I've made. I think there for the better, i just hope I've got most of the bad grammar and spelling out. (I have also changed most of the spelling into American English for all y'all fokes, and since White Collar is American. That's how much i love you guys ^_^) Please enjoy the revised version of the next couple of chapters. =)

**Disclaimer:** You know how the drill, its not all mine, ;_'. alas, except for the plot and the creation of the ever creepy Beholder.

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~Prologue~_

_Beauty is only skin deep. Even the most precious of faces can be torn off and underneath the skin its all the same. Sallow fat, fragile bone and scarlet blood. There is always lot's of blood when you cut into flesh. He knew this. He knew because not long before he had carved out the beautiful face of the girl that now lay before him. Her blood soaked hair was blond before he had started his work. Silky soft, but fake, just like her. She was such a dirty liar. He stroked the dark roots of her hair, her eyebrows and her pubic curls. She was cold now; her warmth had left her body a long time ago. _

_She was a fraud. She had pleaded with pretense and hypocrisy when she had begged for her life. He had to show her. Beautiful things, truly beautiful things were not false. He hated the plastic celebrities that flaunted themselves in the public eye; they thought they were all so beautiful, righteous in placing themselves in the category of perfection. But they were wrong. They were fake, and he would love nothing more then to show them all. _

_But he didn't, that would only stop him from doing his work. To correctly educate those art collector hypocrites who truly thought themselves capable of appreciating the mastery of art._

_And now he had shown this petty creature. He could see now, her true be__auty. Her sapphire e_y_es, though now crystallized over, were the windows into her soul. They were unique, and he wanted them. In the shadows, he reached for a spoon.  
_

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~Sound Of The Storm~

Neal Caffrey, rehabilitated ex-con, smile of an angel and charm of a snake. On a regular day, his flamboyantly outrageous lifestyle kept him preoccupied enough for him not to think that he had become the property of 'Uncle Sam'. At least he was supposed to be. Regulations had never held much power over him in the past. But now the stakes were higher, a pending life sentence of imprisonment, the pursuit of truth behind Kate's vanishing act and the mystery of the music box. And there was Peter.

But as of late, the caseloads that usually poured in to the White Collar office were dwindling. Neal complained, Peter rejoiced. He had tried to console Neal by saying 'this was just the lull before a storm'. Neither of them would know how right he had been.

That morning, Neal was in early into the office. Looking around he saw Jones sifting though paper work, Lauren tapping on her keyboard and Hughes was in his office on the phone. Neal had approached each of them asking if he could be of any use, but they had all thanked him for his offer and said they could manage. What they did not realize was it was not a gesture of kindness; it was a plea for sanity.

The glass-paneled doors to the bureau swished open. Peter walked into the office just as the clock hand struck the hour. As always, Peter was prompt and reliable. Before he could inhale the cool of the air-conditioned office, Neal was in his shadow. "Hi Peter. I made you coffee" he said passing him a cup.

Peter took the offering absent mindlessly walking directly to his office, used to Neal's immature and impromptu gestures. Sipping from the mug, he grimaced at its contents. "Its cold." he said.

"Oh, oops. It would have been warm if you were here when I made it."

Peter scowled as he set the sacrilege offering on his desk. "Why are you bothering me Neal?"

Neal shrugged looking briefly lost. "I thought perhaps the storm you mentioned might have rolled in,"

"No clouds in the sky?"

"Not even a gull." Heaving a large sigh Peter took a seat and Neal followed suit. "Perhaps I could orchestrate something." Said Neal innocently "I'd return everything, naturally."

"Crime is not a game Neal."

"Common Peter, you got to give me something. Another diamond highest!" Peter could see Neal's azure eyes light up at the prospect. "A piece stolen from the MET. Identity theft of a diplomatic citizen! Or a royal who has lost her jewels, huh?" Neal said with a large grin on his face, wiggling his eyebrows.

"Its too early for this." Peter said, rubbing his brow. His phone bleeped and he leaned over and answered it.

Neal snapped his fingers; " I've got it, how about the Federal Banks gold stolen without a trace!"

"How about an art thief?" Peter interrupted as he placed the phone back into the cradle.

"Not me?" Said Neal, suddenly suspicious.

Peter's eyes narrowed at Neal. "No, not you. Not unless you've taken to murder as well. And wasn't that a scene in Die Hard?"

* * *

In the conference room, Hughes stood at the tip of the table. Gentle warm rays of light shone through the large windows as summer said its last goodbyes to the city. On the table, a couple of thick folders lay closed under Hughes hands as he addressed his agent and consult. "The FBI are requesting our assistance. A portrait was stolen from one of their murder crime scenes, and they would like us to track it down and work the white-collar aspect of their investigation. They could use all the help hey can get on this one, but it doesn't mean their going to like it. Peter, you know how Organized crime hates to have our department snooping around on their crime scenes. I don't want us to get too comfortable on this one."

Peter nodded with a sigh. He remembered Agent Ruiz snide comments the last time that he had been at a crime scene with Homicide. Most agents that worked in that division became the same. Haunted and made cold by the things they had seen, numb to the world around them. That was just one of the reasons that Peter had turned down the job offer from them. He couldn't do that to Elle. The majority of white-collar criminals used their brains instead of brawn, most of the time anyway. That was why he had decided to join White Collar.

"What piece was stolen?" asked Neal.

"A private piece by James Abbott McNeill." Said Hughes, sliding across a folder to each of them across the conference table. "It's an untitled piece, and unfinished which lessens the value, but it's still a Whistler panting none the less. We have an image given to us by the victim." Both men opened the file they were given. Inside was a picture of the stolen painting, showing a woman in a white dress posing in a flowerbed of daffodils. The outline of the image was drawn in light pencil, barely visible as the lines had faded over time. Delicate stokes of paint adorned the girls face and dress, but only dabs were seen on the rest of the image. The painter had obviously grown tired of painting the piece and never bothered to finish it. Neal looked over the copy slowly digesting the image. He recognized it, but he didn't say anything to the room.

"The FBI have been following a serial killer for just over four years, and have given him the title of The Beholder. It seems this is the first time that he has stolen a piece from one of his murders, though it is suspected that other art thefts can be linked to the killer."

"Why is he called The Beholder?" asked Peter curious.

Hughes sighed. "He's called The Beholder because he leaves a burn mark on the skin of each of his victims. Its his trade mark." Hughes opened his folder and produced a close up photograph. "The mark on the skin resembles an eye. Hence the name, 'The eye of the beholder'. He also leaves each of his victims posed and takes body parts as trophies. But he always lets the authorities know why he killed them, by telling us their faults."

"How colorful." Said Neal, turning to the image that Hughes had referred from, his face contorted into a grimace at some of the crime scene images. He shut the folder curtly and tossed it onto the table, clearly discussed at the contents.

"The FBI believes he's been using a personalized branding iron. They haven't had any luck tracking down forgers that may have made it customary. So far they believe that he made it himself. That makes him adept in forging as well as the amateur surgery that he commits on his victims." Hughes flicked out another photograph of a young girl. "That," said Hughes, "is from the latest victim, Hanna Relvar, the daughter of Clive Relvar, an industry owner of an electronic commerce business downtown. Mr Relvar has a lot of influence, which is another reason why we are being called in. He's is making it his personal mission to bring his daughters killer to justice. He's threatening to bring in the newspapers as well."

"I can see that going down well." Peter said sarcastically.

"The FBI have deterred him from doing it thus far, but if there aren't results soon, it will change very quickly. Peter your track record speaks for its self, at least our department will be covered if things go wrong."

"You said they suspect other art thefts made by the same killer. Why do they think this?" Asked Neal.

"One of the agents on the case," Hughes paused and squinted at the folder under his fingers, "Agent Huntington believes he has recognised a pattern in local thefts. In each case the frame is left on the wall and a fingerprint is always found in the center of the empty frame."

"Suggesting it was intentionally put there." Said Peter.

"Precisely. But the fingerprint is a dead end. They can't find who it belongs to. But it's the same in each case."

"What paintings have been stolen?" Neal said.

"Certainty not your economical paintings. Kazmir Malecich, Gustav Klimt, Raphael, I believe a Matisse is on the list too."

"A Matisse?" Said Neal, Peter smiled across the table at the con man. He knew how fond Neal was of Matisse.

"These are all very prominent artist. Why haven't we heard anything about this before now?"

"All paintings were like this one, quick sketches or half finished making them less noteworthy. Some we don't even have images of. I suggest you talk to the agents in charge of the investigation, Huntington and Durk. They will be able to answer most questions about The Beholder. But remember, you are not to get involved in their side of the case. You are not Homicide, your white collar. You have only been requested to investigate the missing McNeil painting. Everything you find has to be turned over to the agents working this case once you have finished."

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**A/n: **Next chapters coming up soon, I'm clocking into 5 in the morning here in little old Britannia, so I'm an itch tired. *_* gonna rest my eyes. I'll have two more chapters, old and new, to post, so ill get them up in a jiffy. Hehehe, have fun translating that one. ;P

~Chow4noW~


	2. Chapter 2

**AHH! ok, . i hope this works because it took me far to long to try and upload this. i guess i really cant navigate well on this site. ( i cant find my reviews either, its killing me =) **

**and also, if this does work, im sorry for the delay, uni has bee nice enough to pile on the work, so yay! .... *_* but i have made this chap nice and juicy so please enjoy!**

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"I can't believe were only assisting on this case", complained Neal in the passenger seat of Peter's car as they drove towards the crime scene. "How often do you get a serial killer and an art thief under the same alias?"

"It makes for a dangerous combination if you ask me"

Neal hummed an agreement at Peter.

A thief with a passion could be difficult, but understandable. A killer with a passion, as this guy clearly was, with the way that he so meticulously created their crime scenes, was unpredictable, and with unpredictable came danger of the unknown.

"A guy like this Beholder, obviously the FBI have been having difficulty catching him for the murders that he's committed so far." Peter said.

"So he's clever, knows how to cover his tracks" Neal said, building their own profile of the Beholder was just as important to them as reading the profile already provided by the FBI.

"But not with this one," said Peter as he pulled off the main road into the residential area where the Relvar house was. "So why would he kill_ and_ steel the painting if they have always been kept separate in the past?"

"Maybe he didn't intend on killing Hanna, maybe it was a crime of opportunity?"

"So he was really at the Relvar house to steal the painting?" Peter guessed. Neal shrugged as Peter pulled onto the drive of their destination. "He's advancing in his work, gaining more confidence, he's combining his two different obsessions now. This may be the first time, but ill bet you the next one will be a lot worse. He's probably thought about connecting his crimes together for a long time and just never had the guts to do it until now." finished Peter killing the ignition. "The question is why this painting, I mean, its nothing special. Not worth a _huge_ amount on the open market, right?"

"Perhaps its not the value on the market that the Beholders interested in. Perhaps he can recognise a beautiful painting when he sees it"

Peter scowled at Neal's answer. He had seen a copy of the painting, it wasn't that special, not to his taste anyhow, and he knew not the Neal's. Neal got out of the car a little too quickly before Peter caught on to Neal. "What aren't you telling me Neal?" Peter followed Neal as he tried to disappear up the path to the house. When Neal did not slow down Peter repeated his question more sternly.

From behind, Peter could see Neal's shoulders hunch a little before turning to face Peter. Neal said "Nothing that I'm sure you haven't already worked out by now Peter"

Then it dawned on him what Neal was, or rather was not saying. He walked close up to Neal so as no one could over hear what he was about to say to the con man.

He breathed in a breath calming himself before asking, "You stole that painting didn't you? What the Beholder stole was your work?"

When Neal didn't answer strait away and just gave him his expression that said, 'well, what do you expect? I'm Neal Caffrey'. He cursed at him. "Damn it Neal! Why didn't you say something earlier?"

"Oh yeh, I'm sure Agent Hughes would have just loved to hear about yet another forgery I've committed and add it to the penance tab I've got around my ankle."

"Damn it Neal, this could be important. It's going to have to come out at one point or another in the investigation." Sighing, Peter asked, "Why steal it in the first place?"

Neal smiled, but the happiness of the memory died before it met his eyes. "It was Kate. It was a piece that we saw at an exhibition before I got arrested. We joked about it, so I stole it for her as a joke"

"You took it for a joke? That's just grate Neal, just fantastic!" Peter rambled as he stormed his way inside, Neal following not far behind.

The two walked into the house. Neal knew that Peter didn't trust him, even though every thing that they had been together, he knew Peter wanted more, wanted Neal to be more reliable, more honest with him. Neal wanted Peter to trust him, but he just didn't know how much more honest he could get, it wasn't, after all in his nature.

The house was a sculpture of marble, defiantly a place that Neal would feel comfortable staying in, or robbing. The front door was open when they approached, seeing no one in sight, they made there way into the house towards the sound of snapping photographs. They entered the main living space, which was lavishly decorated with gold and cream furniture, pale marble floors and a large television that flickered from image to static. Hanna's parents were in the room, in the corner out of the way of the FBI who were dusting down the room for fingerprints and taking video footage of the scene. Their heads were bent low and they talked in hushed tones trying to comfort each other. There was a table placed in the center that didn't seem to belong to the rest of the room, on top was a taped marked silhouette of where Hanna once lay.

Two distinct figures in suits turned to them as they entered, Neal took them to be the FBI agents that they were supposed to be 'assisting'. They walked over to them in unison, introducing them selves as agent Durk and Huntington. Neither of them was particularly striking to look at but they both had that look in their eyes that told him that they had seen far too much in their line of work. Durk with her short highlighted blond hair and slight plump face, and Huntington with his thick set brow and bold features, were the perfect image of good cop, bad cop, though by agent Durk's cold tone as she introduced herself suggested that, despite appearances, she was bad cop and Huntington was good cop.

"You must be Agent Bruke from White Collar division" said Huntington with an open smile.

"And you're the agents new pet convict, Neal Caffery" Durks tone was as bland as her expression as she addressed Neal.

Neal despised it when people referred to him as Peter's 'pet convict'. He was not something that could be owned and had no master to answer to, at least, that's what he strived for, his current predicament with the FBI proved something completely different.

Trying not to let it show, Neal summoned up his best smile for the woman. "And how lovely it is to meet the agents that have been chasing the Beholder for the past four years."

Agent Durk's eyes narrowed at Neal, but she said nothing further, leaving her partner to take the lead.

"I'm glad the Wight Collar department could spare us two of its agents to help us with this one."

Neal didn't miss the implication of him being an agent, which made his grin widen in genuine glee.

Seeing Neal's ego about to burst, he interrupted the mans moment by addressing Huntington "This is where it happened then?" Peter had meant the theft of the painting, but Huntington took his meaning for the murder.

Turning agent Huntington nodded and surveyed the scene as if he had just seen it him self. "Yeh, this is where it all happened." Pointing to the table, he gave them a brief of the situation. "He dragged the table to the centre of the room from the dining room, the deceased was on it when we arrived. He displayed her for us to find like that."

"Was she killed on the table or positioned there?" asked Peter.

"Were thinking that she was killed on the table judging from the blood patterns found around the body and rope tied around the legs of the table. There were struggle marks from rope on her wrists as well, but that could have been from her being tied up elsewhere. We wont be certain until the lab results are back."

"Aren't you supposed to be here to investigate the missing painting, not the dead girl?" Agent Durk's cold and rude interjection stopped the conversation in its tracks. "Your missing paintings that way." She said pointing to the wall behind them.

An empty gold frame hung where the picture once stood on a plain cream wall. Left with little else choice, Peter and Neal walked in the direction directed, the agents not far behind. Sometimes you just had to take the hostility from other agent until you could deal it right back.

Sighing, Neal tried to get his brain into gear. "so what do you think?" said Peter to Neal.

"Give me a minuet Peter, I mean I'm good but its going to take me more then just two seconds."

"I'm sorry, I must have misjudged you." Said Peter teasingly.

Ignoring Peter's comment, Neal stepped forward to examine the frame, making him the focus of the group's attention. Knowing what he knew about the history of the painting and his relation to it, he was fainting deep concentration. He was about to tell them that the painting that the Beholder had stolen was a fake, wanting to show up Agent Durk, when he noticed something about the frame. Frowning, he asked the agents behind him for a forensic glove so he could touch the painting without leaving any prints. Using the edge of the glove, he lifted the corner of the frame to look behind it.

"What is it Neal?" Peter asked.

Composing himself, Neal gestured for Peter to follow him a few paces away from the agents prying ears. "Peter, that frame is one of mine too."

Catching himself before he yelled at Neal, Peter hissed at him "God damn it Neal, your forged the frame too!?"

"No, you don't understand Peter. When I took the original painting I placed the fake in the original frame."

"Then how did that get here? Is it possible the Relvar purchased the frame separately?"

Neal shrugged "Anything's possible. But an old paintings like this one rarely come out of it original frame. Unless they've been stolen" added Neal after receiving a look from Peter. "But this is too much of a coincidence."

Peter nodded in agreement, "And if there's one thing I believe in, there's no such thing as a coincidence."

Neal's frown deepened "But this frame, it doesn't make sense. I made this frame to contain a hidden compartment. But I destroyed it afterwards, I'm certain of it."

"Why would you make a fake frame so valuable just to be a container?"

Neal hesitated too much for Peters liking "It was an exchange of sorts."

Peter shook his head in exasperation, knowing he would get little more information from the man. "Fine" Peter said. "So we have a missing painting that you forged."

Neal nodded and continued Peter's train of thought. "And we have a frame that I made _well_ before I took the paining, and has noconnection to the picture."

"Except for you."

"Except for me." Neal agreed, repeating Peter. He considered this for a moment, then made his way back to the frame. Using the glove he used before, he searched the base of the frame.

"What's he doing?" demanded Durk to Peter. Peter ignored the question and stepped closer to see what Neal was doing.

Neal, finding the pressure spot he was looking for, pressed slightly and a section of the frame popped open. A rolled up piece of paper fell to the floor with an empty tunk. Neal bent down and picked up the piece forgetting about the frame. As he unrolled the paper, Neal felt the world come to a sudden, horrific stop. Sound was dulled in his ears and his mouth went dry.

Swallowing his fear, Neal handed the piece to Peter, not daring to look at the man. Taking it, Peter understood why Neal was suddenly as white as a sheet.

Drawn on the piece of paper in fine crosshatch style, was a close up drawing of Neal Caffery asleep.


	3. Chapter 3

**Ok, so its been a while! And i have been educated in how to use this site! yay! And i have read my reviews! A bigger YAY! I just want to say thank you all for your kind words and constructive criticism. I will take any chance to improve my work that i can. **SaintDogStreet- **you should write a book. lol. Very useful stuff, thanks. I will also take up your recommendation and darbymonster'**s **for a better reader. **

**On that note, i would love to take up your offer **Ursula4x. **I have a chapter waiting to be uploading... sort of, the first half of it is in oxford on my friends computer, and she's in Gambia teaching until the end of next week (so that would be the 16th). The other half is waiting for its counterpart on my own computer. But as soon as the two are joined i would love to send it to you and get it checked out? I don't want any of my readers teeth hurting. ;)  
**

**I just wanted to let you all know that i havent forgotten about this story, it has just been delayed. I also don't want my ramblings to raise everyone's hope who is on my alerts for this story, so i have added a little something. **

**Enjoy, and another chapter should be up shortly after the 16th April. **

**Chow for now! x  
**

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He watched from afar. That was best, but not too far. He had seen Neal enter the house and it pained him to sit on the side lines while he knew that Neal would be opening his gift. He wanted to see him when he did. Alas, forces kept them apart. Instead he waited for him to walk out of the house, that sight would have to do.

He chuckled to himself. It had finally begun. He had been planning for quite some time now, just a little over four years to be precise.

The FBI had had their time; they could not be selfish anymore. Soon, all his plans, everything, would unravel, and then he would have what he wanted.

Are you scared Neal? He wondered.


	4. Chapter 4

_**a/n.** Wow, this has been way overdue. My wonderful beta did review this story but i decided to change a few things and the direction that the story was going in and i kinda got a bit OCD on it, (hope i haven't steered too far from your direction). So i want to apologize to all! _

_Disclaimer- I own nothing ( i'm an underprivileged person=(. )_

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Neal stared out at the smog filled blue sky line through the high-rise window in the FBI Building. Once they had gotten away from the inquiring FBI agents and back from the Relvar household he had been steered easily into Peter's office. Peter was debriefing Hughes about the situation concerning The Beholder. In the car Neal had insisted Peter be adamant about amnesty concerning his theft of the McNeil painting before he revealed anything about what they had found.

What was the purpose of The Beholder leaving that message? To scare him, let him know that he was being watched. He must have wanted Neal to be the one to find it, to recognise the frame for what it was, a message in a bottle. The whole scene had been orchestrated. The murder of Hanna to involve the FBI, and then by stealing the painting he had involved the White Collar division. This meant that he had planned it all. Hanna was just one piece in his plans, Neal shivered. He dare not think about the consequences of what Hanna's death might mean. What else, and who else would be effected by the time that this mad mans plans had played out. One thing was certain, this would not end quietly, and more people would get hurt. He had to stop it, somehow. He wouldn't let anyone else die just so this "Beholder" could get his kicks off.

Deep in thought, Neal didn't notice Peter walk into the office and address him, and was startled by the sudden presence of a hand on his shoulder.

"Sorry" Peter apologised "I didnt mean to scare you."

"No, its fine" Pulling himself out of his reverie, Neal sat down in Peter's chair hands behind his head and put his feet on his desk. "So what's the verdict? Am I still in?"

Peter scowled at Neal's bravo and slapped his feet off of his desk. "You're still in." With a thumb jerk he told Neal to get out of his chair, he complied and Peter sat down with a sigh. This was going to be a long day. "It would be hard to take you off this one. It seems our friend has taken quite a shining to you."

Neal smiled his charming smile, one he didn't feel "Who doesn't?"

"Well in this case I think it's rubbed off on the wrong person. While we were out of the office this was delivered." Peter produced a thin evidence bag and flopped it down onto the table.

Neal swallowed his trepidation and picked up the clear bag. Inside was another slip of paper. Illustrated in the same neat cross hatch style, Neal and Peter were sitting on the balcony at Junes. It showed a fair depiction of the scene. There was breakfast spread out on the table, coffee juices toast and cereals. The mornings paper spread out before Neal on his lap, the detail wasn't precise enough to have a date on the paper, but enough so that Junes shawl was draped over the back of a vacant chair where she had sat earlier on that morning. Depicting from the image, Neal guessed that the drawing was done some time this summer where the weather was warm enough for Neal to be out in his thin dressing gown and no slippers on his feat.

"That's a nice little drawing of us there, though Peter you look a little bigger here, have you lost weight?" asked Neal jovially trying to lighten the meaning of what another picture might mean.

Peter glared but ignored the question "Look at the back"

Neal did so, and saw an inscription there addressed to him. He read aloud "_You were once in my sight only to be taken from me by another, but soon I will release you from your internment_.' " Neal paused a moment digesting what the note said, fighting off a shiver making its way down his spine. "Ok, that's disconcerting"

That afforded Peter a small smile, it was probably as honest as Neal had been with his feelings all day. "That's an understatement."

"How was it delivered?" asked Neal pushing the image away from him across Peter's desk.

"Courier, the kid that delivered it was oblivious. We're chasing down the trail but I doubt they'll find anything. This guys too attentive, he wouldn't make a mistake that easily."

"I agree." After a short pause Neal asked, "How did Hughe's take the news of my previous endeavours?"

"Better then expected, and amnesty is yours, but I can tell he doesn't like one of his own being a target like this. He wants this one by the books, no repercussions."

"I'm one of his own?" Neal asked Peter, somewhat touched by the concern.

Peter hesitated momentarily "No matter what your past antics Neal, you're part our team now." he said, then he added almost reluctantly, "We look out for our own."

Neal grinned with gratification. He was considered one of them now; it helped a little with how conflicted he was feeling at present, but wondered if Peter might just be saying that to make him feel better.

There was anther bout of silence before Peter asked, "How are you holding up?"

Neal shrugged nonchalantly. "I'm used to dealing with these kinds of people Peter."

Peter blinked at the man's bravo "Sure, you've had your run-ins with tough guys Neal, but this guy is not right in the head. Your not worried at all?"

"It is nothing I can't handle." Neal said too quickly in a desperate gesture of pride, or was it self-defence? Neal wasn't sure, but it was said now. There was not doubt he was restless about the attention he was receiving from The Beholder, but he wasn't about to admit he was scared to a tough guy like Agent Burke, not right now at least.

And besides, Peter wasn't good at emotions.

Peter nodded with a frown wanting to pry deeper, but respected the Neal's apparent need not to discuss the situation. Besides, Caffrey had proven repeatedly he could take care of his self with a surprising sufficiency.

Peter raised his hands and rubbed his fingertips into his eyes. "We have to compile a time line of the two aspects of the Beholders MO." Raising his head, he rested his chin on steepled fingers. "You research the past four years larcenies that could fit into his persona, I want to see if there are any connections between the art works that have been stolen to the murders that the FBI have been tracking, see if we cant find a clue of who this guy is. Im going to get this evidence to forensic, see if they can get anything."

Peter stood and looked at his watch, it was 1:42pm, time to order lunch. "Im going to get some coffee too." Neal raised his hand, one finger pointing.

One for me too.

* * *

When Peter went by Neal's desk later that day, he found four empty mugs of coffee and two empty sandwich wrappers on his table, along with tuffs of paper pulled from folders splayed anywhere there was space. Surprised by his unusual unkemptness, Peter had to suppress a comment. "How are you progressing?" he said instead.

"Here's what I could find on possible thefts in the New York area that could be our guy." Neal said handing Peter a heavy set tanned folder. "I looked at pieces that weren't recovered or were similar to the McNeil painting but without a clear understanding of his art motivation I don't think there's much more I can add."

Peter nodded, "Alright, ill give these a look over and see what agents Huntington and Durk can add to them." he turned to leave but was stopped by a small tug at his elbow sleeve.

"Have a look at this." Neal gestured towards his screen. Peter leaned over his shoulder and watched the young man pull up a widow. "This is the transcript of the McNeil painting from the owner before the Revlars. The painting was bought for near enough $24,000, but compare that to Clive Relvars transcript-" he said producing a piece of paper

"It's nearly half that." said Peter, "So what, a flux in the market?"

Neal pursed his lips together "Not likely, more like the previous owner wanted it badly enough to pay out that kind of money, no questions asked. But that's not what I wanted you to see." Neal pointed to the name of the person who sold the painting to Clive Relvar.

"Take a look at the name on the invoice"

"Del Horbethe" Peter looked up at Neal, questioning in his eyes.

Neal taped the screen where the name was written "It's an anagram."

Peter read the name again, an anagram, for what? Then he saw it. "Del Horbethe is an anagram for The Beholder." Peter thought aloud, a smile creeping across his face. Trust Neal to have spotted that, he felt pride begin to bloom in his chest.

"And take a look at this." Neal pulled up a window. On the top of the page was the heading for the Federal Bureau of Investigation, Homicide Division.

"Did you get clearance to look at these files?" the pride Peter was feeling abruptly disintegrated.

"You didn't see that." Peter groaned at Neal but said nothing further. Mentioning Neal's activities in the FBI database would only give Peter a bigger headache then he already had "I thought about what you said earlier on today. About this being an acceleration in The Beholders M.O?"

"What about it?"

"Well, I was looking at where he might have committed his first theft so we could cross reference thefts from the same time as the first murder, like you said to do, and see how he had accelerated to combining the two. But then I saw his case file."

"What did you find?"

"Well, that's the interesting part. I mean, I don't know much about homicide, but don't serial killers establish a pattern on their original crime and then repeat it. Over and, over again as part of their damaged psychology?"

"Yeh, that's how the criminal indulges in his or her fantasies in order to satisfy their urge."

"Right. So, I looked at the first crime report, and then cross referenced it with the second, third and so on."

"Get on with it Neal." Barked Peter, impatient at the young man's long-winded explanation.

"Im getting there. So I looked at the crime reports and found some inconsistency's. In the first report, it stated that the first victim, Susana Wolford, was mutilated and sexually assaulted before her death. The second reported crime was Catharine Strangford, she was also mutilated but there were no signs of any sexual assault. The profiler on the case said there were no signs of sexual abuse because the first victim was somehow intimately related to the killer_. But_," Neal stressed the word with a pointed finger "later on in the investigation, three more bodies were found and identified as The Beholder's victims, but post-mortem put their deaths before the abduction of Catharine Strangford or Susana Wolford. Now only one of these bodies showed signs of sexual assault, but this time it was with a foreign object, and the victim was male. What is even more unusual is the fact that in the first half dozen or so murders, the M.O of the killing's changes. Its like he doesn't care how he kills them, just that he does so to get the FBI's attention. The only thing that is consistent is the eye burn mark that he puts on each of them "

"Ok, that is strange. It could be that we have two guys here. One committing the sexual assaults while the other invents a new scenario how to kill them each time, just as long as he places his mark?"

"I thought that as a possibility too, but the case file put together by the esteemed FBI agents we were so fortunate to have met this morning have put a dossier together profiling only one perpetrator. Their reasoning that there is only one signature on these murders and there aren't enough sexual afflictions to implicate another 'perp'. Ergo one killer." Neal said exasperated.

"Are there any connections with the victims?"

Neal stretched back in his chair, his spine popping like bubble wrap. "No connection in their life styles matches with any regularity. They lived in different social areas, leisure habits varied, none of any of their professions were the same, and their appearances range the whole human genome!"

Peter looked over at his composed accomplice, considering how to delicately verbalise his next question. "Have you considered why The Beholder would choose to target you?"

Neal hesitated. He had considered it, and there were a number of reasons why someone like The Beholder might concentrate on someone like Neal, and none that he liked. "Well. It could be possible he went to take the painting and realised that it was not the original. Found out that I had forged it and targeted me because of that." he said this with a small amount of hope, that if Peter considered this scenario it might make it true, making all other possibilities fictitious.

"The time frame of him committing the murder and creating the drawings of you doesn't match up for that though." Peter saw his partner stiffen at the reminder of the two drawings already received. He tried to lighten the subject. "How come you're researching into these murders anyway? I thought that wasn't your 'area of expertise.'" Grate job, thought Peter to himself.

Neal considered Peter, "It gives me something to keep my mind busy."

"Any luck with that?"

"Wrong subject matter."

Peter nodded, what Neal needed was a good nights sleep. "Come on. That's enough for one night, i'll give you a lift home."

Neal wavered in his seat for a moment, "I think i'll stay here for a bit longer, finish up on this research and get a cab home."

Peter frowned at the conman, he hated doing research and being stuck behind a desk, Peter sighed. "Neal, there's nothing to worry about. I've arranged for a unit to be posted outside all night. Nothing is going to get in or out without one of my agents seeing it. Come on, grab your jacket, I'm taking you home." Peter said, leaning forward and turning off the computer screen on his desk.

Reluctantly Neal complied, as he got up he made sure his body language described fully how he felt about Peter's orders.

* * *

They didn't say much on their journey home. Neal had fiddled with the radio, only to have it turned off WQXR by Peter. When they pulled up in front of June's house, it was nearly a quarter past elleven, and both men's eyes were starting to stick together with sleep. Neal noticed the surveillance car parked opposite and gave them a wave. Only one waved back, the other stuffed a sandwich into his face. Probably devilled ham, thought Neal.

"I'll swing by in the morning and pick you up." Peter said, as Neal made no approach to exit the vehicle. Neal just nodded at the comment, but still made no move to get out. "Is something bothering you Neal?" it was a stupid question, he knew it as soon as it had left his lips. Peter really wasn't good at this.

"June's not home."

"She's not?"

Neal shook his head. "I called her earlier today, told her what had happened and that it would probably be best if she didn't stay at the house for a while, just to be safe." Neal didn't want to go into that house. He cursed The Beholder silently. He had taken probably one of the safest places that Neal had experienced in a long while and turned it into another prison. He hated him for that. He hated himself for being afraid of some stupid pictures to the point he didn't feel safe in his own home. He had grown up a long time ago and was no longer afraid of the boogieman in the closet.

He wouldn't let The Beholder scare him.

He sucked in a huge breath and shoved open the car door. "Night, Peter." he called over his shoulder, slamming the door behind him.

Peter stared after the man as he walked up the front steps and into the house. Neal hadn't wanted to go into that building alone. Peter could tell by the comment he had made about June being away. He had been about to ask Neal if he had wanted to stay with him and Elizabeth tonight, reluctantly so, but none the less offer him a place where he might have felt safe for the night.

He heaved a sigh, he really wasn't good at offering emotional support. Point him at a bad guy that needed taking down and he could act without hesitation, but emotions, they got confusing. Say the wrong thing and you'd know about it. At least Neal was a guy; he could look after himself.

Peter sighed again and indicated the car to pull out. Before he drove off, he pulled up near the surveillance unit and scrolled down his window. The agent with a sandwich did the same and grunted a greeting filled with food in his mouth. Peter told each of them, very slowly so they both understood the seriousness of his words, that if anything happened to Neal, even so much as a scratch, he would personally make them suffer for the rest of their lives. Sandwich-face gulped down his mouthful in one, stiff swallow, and mumbled a 'yes-sir, understood, sir'.

Peter nodded, satisfied, and then started his journey home. He hoped Neal would be all right for the night. He would offer the man to come and stay at his place tomorrow if he still seemed uncomfortable. He nodded, approving of his own logic and absolving him self of some of his own guilt at leaving Caffrey alone for the night.


	5. Chapter 5

**a/n **Not as long a wait as last time, truthfully some of this chapter was already written up, i was planning on waiting for it to be betta'd, but i just couldn't resist posting it. So please forgive if there are mistakes, perhaps in the future i will upload a betta version. Enjoy!

Disclaimer: I own only the creation of The Beholder in this story, and believe me i don't want to, he creeps me out.

* * *

When Peter pulled up in front of his quaint attached city house, his guilt for leaving Neal alone had grown again. He shouldn't have left him in that house without any company tonight.

He dragged himself out of his car and pushed the door shut. He should have called after Neal and insisted that he come and stay with him and Elizabeth. Or the very least allow Peter to stay with him at June's. That comment about June being out of town still didn't sit right in Peter's stomach. Neal had said it out of dread of being alone, and Peter had just driven off and left the man that was supposed to be his partner. If anything happened to Neal in his absence, he knew that he would have no one else to blame except for himself.

Elizabeth was going to tell him off in that prudent tone that she did when he told her of the days events. And she would be right. He heaved a tired sigh, he knew what he had to do.

But first he would go in and tell El.

* * *

Neal Caffrey pushed open the glass front door to June's lavish house into a softly lit corridor. June had left the lights on before she had left. On a high tile toped table set to the side in the entrance, was an envelope in her delicate looped writing addressed to Neal. He smiled despite himself. He truly loved June, she was a unique woman in a world that no longer bred her kind, one who had accepted him into her life without hesitation. That took a lot of guts, especially in a place such as New York. He picked up the envelope and popped open the seal, in side was a simple message. _'Dear Neal, I'm sorry I didn't get a chance to see you before I left. Im staying with my granddaughter if you need anything, you have her details. And don't hesitate one moment to call, even if it is just to talk. You know how fond I am of you Neal, I'll be here for you if you need me. My thoughts will be with you, June. x_' He folded the letter and popped it into his blazer pocket, grateful for her kind words.

He then started to make his way up the stairs to his room. The house was eerily quiet, and every sound he made echoed into the darkness, making him ever more nervous of his surroundings. With each step he took, the shadows seemed to grow in there immensity. When he reached the entrance to his apartment, he hastily opened it and hurried in, shutting it quickly behind him. He leaned against the white painted door and locked it into place. 'This was stupid' he thought. He was being stupid. It wasn't like he hadn't had killers after him before. Now that was a comforting thought.

What a life he lived.

He laughed aloud at his own predicament shaking off his anxiety. Taking off his fedora, he flicked it at the standing rack where it looped around one of the hooks before settling in its place. Walking towards the small kitchen that lined one side of the room, he took off his blazer and hanged it on the back of a chair. It was a good job that June's late husband had such expensive taste. Any other suit and the thing would be creased to blazes with the hours that he sat behind a desk.

Wine is what he needed. If Peter were here, he would laugh at Neal, it wasn't with wine that men relaxed, it was with beer. Perhaps a hot shower at some point would be good too.

He reached forward and took out a corked bottle of wine and wineglass from the cupboard, set them down on the table and poured himself a decent amount. The red liquid cascaded from the bottle and sloshed around in the glass. He inhaled the wine before taking a mouthful of the rich liquid. Immediately he started to unwind.

Walking over to the couch, he pulled his trousers at the knees and sat down, relaxing into the soft cushions, indulging in another sizeable helping of wine. He listened to the noise that the city around him still emanated at this hour. It was amazing, it seemed that the city was more alive during the night then it was during the day.

He was tempted to call Mozzie, have him come over and stay with him. Then he rejected the idea. Mozzie did not like to travel at night, not if he could help it. Plus he would never let Neal hear the end of how the repercussions of his callous actions were coming back to 'bite him in the ass'. Mozzie was one of the closest friends that Neal had, and sometimes he knew he took him for granted. But he didn't think that Mozzie's many forms of exceptional paranoia would be best suited to his own state of mind right now.

Besides, he'd have to share the wine.

Neal chuckled to himself without humour, it was just his luck that he would attract a psycho like The Beholder. With another sluggish sip of wine he felt himself becoming one with the wonderful sofa beneath him. He wondered when their paths had crossed. He thought back to the question that Peter had asked at the office. He had considered why The Beholder's attention seemed to be focused on him, he had done nothing but consider it. They hadn't discussed it too thoroughly at the time, and part of Neal now wished that they had. It was one of the most disconcerting feelings that Neal had felt, and one of the most perplexing. In all truth, he had no understanding of what The Beholder's intentions were. And that made him all that more terrifying.

He licked his tingling lips, tasting the burgundy 'Pommard Premier', 2006 vintage. Funny, he didn't remember the wine effecting him like it was the last time he had drank it. Perhaps it was because he was tired from such a taxing day. But his mouth felt strange, almost like his tongue was swelling to twice its normal size. He lifted a hand to feel his lips, but felt it sluggishly responding and not moving the way he told it to. This wasn't right. He tried to move forward but found that his body merely twitched at his command, and sank deeper into the couch.

Then from outside his door, he heard the sound of a key being inserted into the lock.

June? Perhaps she had returned, or possibly one of the agents from outside was checking up on him. No, why would they be inside the house, with a key no less. He tried to call out to whoever it was, but he merely made an indistinct grunting sound, his slack tongue not allowing him to use it properly. This situation was far from right.

A sudden surge of panic overwhelmed him. He tried with all of his might to move himself off of the couch towards his phone that was in his inner blazer pocket, desperately trying to make one last attempt to reach the out side world, to reach Peter. But it was a useless gesture, even with all of his might Neal's body merely flumped to the side, his wineglass slipping from his numb fingertips. The remaining liquid in the glass from the $50 bottle of wine spilled onto his hand and the cream canvas couch. That was the cause of his immobility it was the only explanation. He had been spiked.

From his position on the settee, he heard the door slowly open and the sound of the key in the lock grate as it was removed from the tumblers. There was no doubt who it was. How had he got a key! Was it one of Junes? Worry swelled within him for a moment for her well-being before he remembered the letter he had received upon his arrival home. It meant that she had left the house. And Aaron, her muscular chauffeur, who drove her everywhere she went, usually accompanied her. He was a commodity left over from her days with her late husband's enterprise. She would be safe, at least he hoped so.

He listened intently to the slow methodical footfalls of the person behind him. He prayed that it wasn't him, but he knew that lady luck had punched out for the night. Unable to turn to see the figure, he waited for him to enter his line of vision. But that moment never came. Instead, the sounds of the trespasser stopped directly behind Neal's now immobile figure on the sofa. He could feel the presence of the man emanating onto his shoulders, all he could do was wait for the inevitable strike.

"Neal," the man breathed from behind him, ice ran through his spine. "You have no idea how long I have waited to make your acquaintance." Neal's heart pounded in his ears. The only movement he could now make was the rapid rise and fall of his chest. Why hadn't he just asked to stay at Peters house, was it that difficult of a task?

Gentle hands lifted him into a sitting position again, and light fingertips positioned his head so that it was resting on the plush cushions facing the ceiling. Neal tried to focus on the mans face above him, but The Beholder had positioned himself, whether on purpose or not Neal didn't know, so that his face was just beyond Neal's line of vision.

Neal strained to make his body move, he wanted to thrash, kick and scream at the man to get away from him. At this point, he couldn't even change the direction of his gaze or blink away the discomfort of his rapidly drying eyes. "Do not trouble your self Neal, I've simply placed a little Rocuronium bromide into your wine. I want you to know no harm will come to you while you are in my care." The comment afforded Neal little reassurance. The man gently laid the tips of his fingers on Neal's eyelids and tenderly pulled them down. He then placed a smooth piece of material over them, creating a blindfold. Gently he pushed the material into the impressions in Neal's face and secured it at the back of his head.

This was torture. It was worse then prison. At least there he could fight or con his way out of the situations he had found himself in. Here he was a life-sized doll, completely at the whim of a serial Killer that had evaded the FBI for four years and killed nearly a dozen people. His reassurances meant nothing to Neal.

Apparently reading Neal's thoughts, Neal heard the voice of The Beholder now travelling around the couch to stop in front of him. "The others, they were all re-enactments. They were for you, all just so we could be together right now. I hope you can appreciate the trouble I've been through." He did not. He didn't want to appreciate anything about this man. Then he felt one of his hands being lifted from his side and then positioned on his own lap, then the other that the wine had spilt over. He felt the soaked hand being raised, then something rough and wet, Neal realised a tongue, licked off the remaining liquid, before it was placed too on his lap. _Oh god_, he wanted to scream, to run. Run and never look back.

"I am sorry I had to taint one of your most enjoyable past times, but you can understand why I did so can't you?" the man chuckled to himself the way a mature man might chortle at a fond memory. He was well spoken with a gentle air about his words, but there was a hint of something in his accent he couldn't make out.

The Beholder traced a finger where he had just tasted the wine off of Neal's finger. "You're a very special individual Neal. My introduction to you had to be-" he paused. "-exceptional." he breathed the last word out, dragging on every syllable. "I wish I had brought some paper, you inspire me so to draw. You know I wasn't quite sure if you would remember making that frame with its secret compartment. It was such a long time ago. But I'm glad you did, you got my drawing. I must confess the thing was a bother to construct." He laughed abruptly. "Coincidently I bumped into Annabel, you remember her don't you? She was the reason you made the frame. Delightfully petite she was, I think I still have her in a box somewhere." He hummed softly, as if his comment on stuffing a young woman's body into a box was completely normal. "Well, when I started to talk to her about you we did have a lot to talk about. She told me all about your encounters, including the time that you had to switch out one birth certificate for another right under a judges nose. Now that was a story. I made her tell it to me a few times." Neal remembered Annabel, she had been a girlfriend of a very nasty abusive mobster. She was a sweet girl who had been messed around with so many times that he decided to help her. By switching her birth certificate with a forgery, he had convinced a judge that she was the rightful and sole heir to inherit a fortune. He had told her to never look back and enjoy life.

Bile swelled within his mouth. He had thought that she had escaped, was free and was living a comfortable happy life somewhere. Instead, he learned that she was stuffed in a box, denied the freedom that she so deserved. It seems that the vow that he made in Peters office that morning of preventing anyone ells from being hurt by The Beholder had been broken as soon as he had made it. He felt tears sting as they pooled out of his eyes onto the cloth.

Oblivious to the surreal atrocities that that were spilling out of his mouth, The Beholder continued. "When I started to put this plan together I wasn't quite sure that I could contain myself. I had never waited for so long before, created such extravagant plans, only to harness one piece. I can tell you, it's made you all the more worth having." A hand caressed his knee in an affectionate pat.

Silence then descended. Neal strained to hear anything, the hush created by the absence of any noise made by The Beholder was that much more frustrating then the moments when there was sound. "I remember when I first saw you. I had originally saw Kate and was going to make my introduction to her. But then," The sound of smacking lisp caused a short pause. "I saw you. You were at the Miller Block Gallery in Boston. I will let you into a secret. After you stole the McNeil piece for your little girl friend, I made an appointment to meet with you. You were so facetious, kept on changing when we were to meet." Neal could almost hear the smile on his lips as he spoke.

The floorboards creaked under the pressure of The Beholder's feet as he started to walk in the direction of Neal's bed and away from the sofa. "Then you went and got your self caught by that, _man_." He growled in the back of his throat. Neal knew who he referred to. Peter.

"I saw you know, I was watching. You did not have to get caught. I know you had an escape plan, contingencies. You always have a plan b, c, d," he giggled insanely loosing the composure that he had demonstrated thus far, getting caught up in his ranting monologue. "You went to see him, saw him with her. She looks so much like the one you have enthused over the past few months. She poisons you! Why can you see that?"

His instincts clicked into place and he immediately tried to speak to defend Kate. Instead of words though, a gurgled moan sounded in his throat. He stilled, had he just moved or had he imagined it? He tried again. His hand twitched.

A sharp sniff sounded from in front of him. He had seen the movement. Minor though it was, it was a clear sign. The drug was wearing off.

* * *

Just so you know, I really love reviews, let me know how you think the story's progressing. It's your predictable wumpage story, but I'm trying to get allot of detail and twists involved to make it that much more juicy. I'm planning a shocking twist to come out in the end, so the more reviews the faster I write, as they are so addictive.

I also plan on going back over the first few chapters, so if they grated you, (as they did me when i went over them, now I've learn of some of the errors that i kept making) some of the kinks will be sorted out as well as plot lines flowing better together.

Until the next chapter,

~Chow4noW~


	6. Chapter 6

**A/n** OK, i was planning on writing more to add to this chapter and have it beta'd, but after reading that last review by Tello i decided to put this chapter up.( Thank you Tello! ;)) I'm not sure its going to help my cause in the long run, But here it goes. Enjoy!

Disclaimer: I own white Collar, im also the king of the universe...HA! If only ( i don't, so don't sue!)

* * *

Peter pulled into the same parking space that he had used when he had dropped Neal off earlier that evening. El had chided him for leaving Neal alone, what was he thinking and how could he be so selfish. The fact that he had stated he knew he had made a mistake and was on his way to fix it didn't seem to pass into her ears. As he walked out of the door, she had insisted that he bring Neal back with him.

The scene had not changed in the past half hour or so since his last visit. He glanced over at the two agents in the car, they hadn't moved either. Shifting his gear stick in to park, Peter felt his jaw jut forward. He couldn't see what it was, and he had no reason for it, but he could sense it. Something was wrong.

He looked back over at the parked car that held the two agents sitting in shadows. He could see one of them moving slightly within. Peter turned, about to make his way to the house, when he noticed something on the floor by the driver's door. What was that? Pulling his coat around him, he hauled himself out of his cosy car and started to walk towards the agents. As he got closer, he saw that the object on the floor was the sandwich that he had seen the driver eating on his way home. If he had thrown that out his window Peter was going to give him an ear full of proper police conduct. Then he saw that the door was ajar.

Slowly he approached the rear of the car, glancing around him before he lowered himself to peer into the parked vehicle. Shadows clung to the figures, and it took a moment for Peter to work out what he was seeing. Before him the agent that Peter had seen eating the sandwich, if he could recall his name was Roux, had his head tilted back against the headrest. His eyes were closed and his mouth was agape, a dark drool of blood was oozing from his mouth.

Yanking open the already ajar door Peter went to help the agent, instead he found the cause of a mass amount of red blood that was covering his torso, manufacturing an illusion in the night of a black shirt instead of white. Lodged in his mouth was a stiletto blade securing his head to the headrest. Peter heard himself gag, and had to fight the urge to run inside and find Neal. Instead, he looked over to the passenger seat.

Bright white eyes, filled with terror shone back at him. The other agent had a strap tied around his neck that was suspending him inches above his seat, secured in place by the sunroof. His hands were bound behind his back preventing him from being able to do anything other then push with his feet against the floor to stop himself from being strangled. A rag was jammed between his lips preventing him from crying out.

"Oh Jesus." Peter spluttered, as he practically leapt over the driver to get to the hanging man. "Hold on!" he called, finding it difficult to reach him Peter quickly clambered around the car to the other side, pulled open the door and started to grasp at the cord around his neck. It was too thin to get a good enough grip on to untie, so he leaned over and started to wind open the roof, which allowed the young agent to collapse down into his seat with out fear of being strangled to death. Peter could see blood gushing from a wound on his head and a dark bruise starting to form below his eye. "What's your name kid?" Peter asked lightly as he pulled out the gag and started to untie him.

"Kip," he whispered.

Peter couldn't help it, he paused in his actions and stared at the youngster. "Seriously. Your names Kip?"

Kip's eyebrows quivered into a frown. Now was not the time, Peter realised. He went back to trying to untie the kid's hands. "Tell me what happened Kip."

"I only stepped out of the car for a minuet. I didn't mean for-" Kip looked over at Roux, the agents mouth still agape in a transfixed horror.

"It's all right Kip, take it slow. Start from the beginning." The boy was in shock Peter realised, and with good reason.

Kip took a shaky breath. "I got out to stretch my legs and-" he paused momentarily. "-pay the water bill, when I was hit from behind. I was only out for a minuet I swear." He said panic returned to his voice as he tried to justify the injustice imparted onto him. "And by the time I started to come to, I was already back in the car. He'd tied my hands and feet, I couldn't move. And agent Roux was-" Kip gulped. "And he was tying a noose around my neck."

"It's alright now Kip, ok? I'm going to take care of this guy." Kip nodded feeling his throat where the cord was with his now free hands. "I'm going inside. I need you to call for back up. Can you do that for me?" he nodded again licking his lips. "Good." All of Peter's attention was now focused on getting to Neal.

The Beholder had come for Neal and Peter had left him the perfect opportunity to strike. He cursed his own egocentricity. Why had he even left Neal alone, because Neal was a con artist? Did that merit him the reward of being targeted and attacked by a psychotic serial killer? Underneath Neal's bravo and his con ways aside, Peter knew all he wanted was to be left alone to live his life with Kate. But Neal had to take responsibility for his actions, Peter just hoped that Neal could see the good that he did when he worked with the FBI instead of against them.

Just be all right Neal, please. Peter pleaded as he shot up the stairs of June's home, drawing his weapon as he did so.

* * *

"What a bother you didn't consume enough wine Neal, you've cut our talk here quite short. I thought that we would have had more time," Said The Beholder genuinely sad, who was once again pacing the room. Mumbling to himself, he added. "Should have put more Rocuronium bromide into the wine. Well! I will know better for next time, best not to dwell on the little things. Onwards and upwords, that's what my farther used to say." He clapped his hands as he moved into action. Floorboards creaked under his feet as he made his way towards Neal.

Still blindfolded and immobile, Neal strained to hear every move The Beholder made. "Now, I have prepared a little abode for you, but it's quite a distance away." A dull thump came as something was dropped onto the coffee table in front of Neal on sofa. He heard the zipper of a bag divide with one curt hiss as it was pulled open, followed by a rummaging as The Beholder looked through, then finally picked something out. The sofa then dipped under his weight as he sat down next to Neal. He sighed a tired sigh one might make after a long day of work. "Not to worry though my dear boy, I brought something with me that will help to pass the time, you won't even realise that you've travelled. Wouldn't you say that's considerate of me?"

"Yuave-it…" Slurred Neal. His muscles were still mostly unresponsive to the majority of his commands, but slowly, he could feel he was gaining more strength in them. But even through his lack of mobility and run together words, Neal's message sounded clear. 'You have it'. The only problem was that control was returning slowly, and Neal's trivial protests only afforded the response of a slow melancholic laugh.

"Oh no Neal." he hummed "Just who would drive us there? Besides, what I have prepared for you is a surprise." His tone then changed to something more serious. "I know you're not too fond of the idea Neal, but you'll see. You will grow to like the place. I have thought of everything."

He exhaled loudly beside him, and started to trace Neal's hairline with the tip of his fingers. Neal jerked at the touch and turned his head away as best he could, but The Beholder continued to play with Neal's hair. "There has never been one quite like you Neal. You see the splendor in the world that others might scorn at. I simply cannot suffer those fools who think themselves capable of appreciating art. But you, you are someone who can comprehend that the magnificence in a piece isn't all that there is. 'True art is characterized by an irresistible urge in the creative artist'." Neal struggled to swallow, he was now being quoted Einstein and it eerily reminded him of Mozzie spouting out references to famous passages. If he ever saw Mozzie again, he was going to tell him to never quote around him ever again. "That's you Neal, you are not contained by just one genre, not limited by the canvas. You are out there, creating and influencing those around you not allowing anyone to steer you astray. Even in your predicament with that incomprehensible police officer, you prevail."

Neal could smell a pungent sickly sweet smell that emitted from the man's breath as it touched his skin. It made his flesh crawl and he had to fight the urge to gag. Dreamily The Beholder continued, "How could I resist one such as you. You are art Neal. You're my piece of art." A noise hummed out from Neal's throat as the stroking hand travelled down the side of his face, along his jaw and then his neck. Neal had to clench his jaw shut to stop himself from crying out in revulsion. The touch then turned to a careful stroke as his hand travelled down Neal's inner arm and down to his wrist, where he unbuttoned Neal's wrist cuff, and rolled up his sleeve up to the pit of his elbow.

Neal knew what The Beholder's intentions were and he started to struggle in his grasp. "This will only pinch a little Neal, calm your self." Neal felt the scrape of something sharp scratch against his skin as he writhed with all the strength he could muster. He knew if that needle entered his arm, all would be over. He had to prevent it as long as possible, even when the inevitable came, he would know that he had not given in to this Psycho.

"Really Neal you must stay still." Neal heard him pant with exertion, good he thought. "I am trying to do this nicely and without incident, but you will leave me little choice if you do not stop." Neal continued to thrash, he wasn't going to make any of this easy if he could help it. He would fight back even if it killed him, there was no way that he was going to allow himself to become 'a piece' in this sick perverts collection.

The Beholder huffed in aggravation, dropping Neal's arm he raised himself off of the seat beside him. "You leave me little choice then. This will not be the first time I have had to use a syringe on difficult individuals. I was in the Vietnam War, and I can tell you, when I tried to administrate morphine to injured soldiers, they struggled too." He strode around to the back of the sofa, and grabbed a hand full of Neal's hair and yanked it back hard, causing Neal to cry out. Neal struggled fitfully trying to pull free of the man's grasp but he just pulled harder exposing Neal's throbbing throat. He tried desperately to raise his arms to pull the man off of him, but they were still too heavy and listless to do anything to stop him.

A hiss sounded by Neal's ear as The Beholder leaned in close and whispered, hot breath onto his skin. "Hold still now, I wouldn't want to cut your throat by accident." He felt a sharp pinch as the needle pierced his skin and sank into a beating vain. Neal shouted a strangled, "No!" but it was too late. He could feel the drug begin to enter his system and flow into his blood stream.

Three things then happened at once.

From out of nowhere, Neal heard Peter's voice bellow, "NEAL!" causing The Beholder to jerk with a sudden start. The needle in Neal's vain snapped causing Neal to gasp as it scratched his neck and he felt blood or the fluid of the drug, he wasn't sure, flow down his neck. And finally, a gunshot echoed through the apartment, reverberating off of the walls around them sounding like a mark for the beginning of a race.

It all happened very quickly, or at least Neal thought it did. Already he could feel the effects of the small amount of drug that had entered his system web his thoughts together. His contorting world began to swim under his blindfold, he wanted nothing more then to tear it off and see what was happening. Unable to differentiate between what made sense and what didn't he fought to follow the sounds of the fight that had erupted and was taking place around him. He struggled to understand who was grunting with pain and who was yelling with each punch that landed, but with Neal's consciousness fading in and out he found it hard to even concentrate on staying awake.

Then he heard a crash of the balcony glass doors shatter as the two men collapsed into them. He heard yelling. It was The Beholder. He was screaming at the top of his lungs at Peter that Neal was his and he could do nothing to stop him. He was cut short by loud grunt as Peter whacked him across the face, sending him flying where he landed against the balcony wall with a thud.

Glass scraping against the hard concrete floor brought with it a chill that stilled the scene. Deep wheezing echoed around the terrace, and then the sound of a cocking gun froze everything to a standstill. "Don't." Neal heard Peter say with deadly absolution, he did not know whether or not Peter was the one holding the gun or the one pointing it.

Then it went off.


	7. Chapter 7

**An: **I can't wait anymore. This isn't Betta'd, but i think im going to ask my friend who is a spelling feind to help me out. She's going to ridicule me, but ill suck it up. Enjoy.

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Peter ascended the few steps into June's home and found that the door was unlocked. Not a good sign. He opened the door and stepped inside with his gun ahead of him. Darkness clung to the walls and extended its murky claws from every protruding angle. Peter had to use the soft light that streamed through the window to see by. He didn't want to turn on any lights in case it alerted his presence to the intruder.

Training had taught him to check all rooms on lower levels before climbing to the next floor to avoid any nasty surprises sneaking up from behind. Painstakingly slow though it was, Peter knew if routine was not followed, bad things could happen. After glancing into each room at either side of the foyer and finding them clear, he made his way through the rest of the lower ground rooms until he was back at the stairs.

He strained to hear beyond the sounds of the silent house and the noise of the city outside. When he reached the landing of the second floor, he scoped his gun down one direction of the empty corridor before turning its aim the other way. Opening each door as he passed and checking inside, the old building gave no clue away as he stalked slowly down towards the few set of stairs that lead up to Neal's apartment. All was clear on this floor as well.

He reached Neal's apartment door, and slowly grasped the handle and turned it silently. Poised, he held his gun arm at the ready.

Then from within, he heard an agonised cry.

Before he realised what he was doing, Peter was charging through the weak door calling to Neal. He searched frantically around the apartment before his eyes settled on two figures, one standing over the other. A stunted man Peter didn't recognise, with bland features stared back at him with deep set oval eyes.

And there was Neal. Blindfolded and positioned on the couch with the man over him. A syringe in his hand, Neal's hair clutched in the other, forcing the young mans head back with such ferocity that his back arched and his throat bulged under strained muscles.

A rage filled Peter unlike any he thought that he could feel. Gun raised, he aimed and pulled the trigger wanting nothing more then to blast the stranger away. But as Peter squeezed, The Beholder was already moving, dropping out of the bullets path and charging towards him. Head first, The Beholder slammed into his chest, forcing all of the wind to gush out of Peter's lungs. He hit the floor with a thud, smacking his head on the wooden boards beneath him. The gun in his hands blasted off another explosion before it too was smacked away.

The Beholder, now above Peter threw wild relentless punches, anywhere Peter wasn't protecting himself, he was being struck by frantically strong blows. Still winded and disorientated, Peter desperately tried to block the beating that he was being dealt. As another fist swung, he brought his raised arm down, caching The Beholders arm beneath his own. Trapped, the man fought to pull away, but Peter clung on. In desperation, another punch was thrown, but it too was deflected. Then, lurching forward with all of his might Peter head butted The Beholder square on the nose, breaking it in one crunching moment. Blood gushed down onto him as The Beholder howled and clutched at his face.

Peter clambered away from the bloodied man that now glared at him with a new ferocity. "You broke my nose," he spluttered. "How dare you!" For the second time that night, The Beholder charged at Peter. Ready for it this time, Peter used the force of the man and flung him towards the terrace glass doors. The Beholder clung to Peter as gravity pulled on him, and both men hurdled through the shimmering panels into a heap on to the cold stone floor. Splinted glass rained down around them, slashing at them before it landed.

Peter pulled himself up and crawled through the shattered pieces trying to gain enough strength to stand. It crunched beneath him. He could hear his opponent who lay beside him, panting and muttering to himself. "You can't stop me. Never. Never can." Peter looked over at The Beholder, he too was reeling from the impact, and trying to pull himself up on to wavering legs. "I'll have him, one way or the other. He's mine!" He was ranting, screaming now, ignorant of the police sirens that echoed in the distance. All Peter had to do was keep the raving fanatic away from Neal and in his sight until they arrived.

He searched for where his gun had landed and saw it had travelled to just inside the now broken doorway. The Beholder had seen him looking at the gun. Caught, the two shared a tantalising moment. Then The Beholder threw himself onto Peter as Peter lunged for the gun. Consumed by his own insanity, The Beholder continued to yell his possession over Neal. Desperate, Peter threw a wild punch, smashing his fist across The Beholders face. Connecting with already broken cartilage, a howl erupted from the mad man, and he was sent reeling backwards towards the edge of the terrace, where he landed against the wall in a crumpled pile.

Glass crunched underfoot as Peter reached the gun, then turned it on The Beholder. He levelled his weapon. But The Beholder was no longer where he had landed. He was up on the ledge of the terrace, poised to jump.

He stared back at Peter, almost daring him to make him leap from the tall building.

"Don't." was all Peter said.

He fired his gun, but The Beholder was already gone.

* * *

Time seemed to stand still.

Moments after the gunshot had echoed Neal was swallowed by a paranoid frenzy. He fought the darkness that was closing in on him. He couldn't let it take him now, not until he knew if Peter was alive. Whether or not The Beholder had shot him. He struggled against an onslaught of nausea and drowsiness that threatened to take over. Determined, he struggled to hear anything beyond a dead hum that rang in his ears. The shot had been the last thing that he had heard with any clarity, and he could still hear the echo of it in his ears. Or was that police sirens, he didn't know.

Hands unexpectedly griped themselves onto his shoulders and began shaking him. A surge of uncontrollable panic surged within. He cried out and struggled against the grip. But was hushed by a familiar voice. "Your ok Neal, calm down. Its Peter."

"Peter?" He heard himself slur.

"I'm here Neal." Peter said, removing the blindfold that had suffocated his mind into a frenzy. Light filtered into his blurred vision, and he strained to focus on Peter's face.

He didn't seem to be shot, he was covered in blood, but there were no holes in him that shouldn't be. Neal was glad. Peter was talking at him, something about a place called Surry and he should have stayed. Why Peter was talking about a place in England that he regretted leaving he didn't know, and he hardly thought this was the time.

"Beholder," Neal managed to say when Peter took a breath.

"He's gone Neal, he got away." Gone was good enough. Peter wouldn't let Neal be taken away. He could relax now, it would be fine.

Peter was here.

Before the world faded, Neal heard shouts erupt from behind him, then they were all around. Faces he didn't know swam into view. At one point, he was sure he saw Lauren loom into his vision, then she was gone, only to be replaced by another blurred face. People were prodding him and asking him questions, a lot of questions. Surely they didn't expect him to answer. Even if they did, he didn't care. Neal had decided he was going to pass out now, and nothing was going to stop him from doing it.

* * *

**Short, i know. But the next one is almost done. So i shant keep you waiting too long. =) Also, do you guys think i can change the rating of this story? I don't think its going to get more explicit then it already is. xx**


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N:** I have just read over this chapter and made a few changes, hope they make the story more enjoyable.

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Neal never liked hospitals. Far too public and they insisted on recording every little detail about you and putting it on record. Private practices were better, the staff, the treatment, the food. But when you black out and are in need medical treatment, you tend to vouch away your right to voice your recovery accommodation.

It was strange though. Neal knew he was sleeping, or rather on the verge of waking up. He could hear the rhythmic beep of the heart monitor beside him, announcing every beat his heart made. And he felt a strange, calm enveloping him. Like he had slept in a deep hibernation and was waking up to a glorious spring. His logical brain told him it was either shock or drugs diluting his senses so his body and mind could recover from his ordeal. Either way, Neal wasn't complaining. It was quite nice, lying on a soft mattress and feeling completely relaxed.

As the world made itself known a little more with each passing beat, he slowly began to peal open his gummy eyes. White light surrounded him and covered all objects around until his eyes grew accustomed to the brightness, allowing him to focus on the room. It appeared how you might expect a public hospital room to be, light blue walls trying there best to produce an ambiance of calm and serenity into the patient's recovery. However, with years of use and abuse there were stains and smudges slashed across the surfaces. They appeared old and tired more then anything.

Neal glanced to the side of him and saw a hunched figure huddled on one of the four plastic chairs that surrounded his bed. On one of the empty chairs was draped a woman's jacket and gloves, but whomever they belonged to they weren't in the room. It was just the one sleeping figure closest to him.

Neal inspected the form of the person. His brain wasn't focussing on recognising the figure. He knew he should, but try as he might, he couldn't form the connection. Then the person gave a start, inhaling sharply his eyes snapped open to survey his surroundings.

As soon as Neal saw the face, a swarm of memories flooded back into his mind. How could he forget this man, this was the person that had changed his life.

Peter focused on Neal, still half asleep, it took a few moments for his brain to connect to his tongue. "You're awake."

Neal felt a smile broaden across his face, "Hi Peter."

"Hi Neal." Both men smiled at each other, saying everything without uttering a word. Everything was right again, Neal was safe and Peter had saved him. They were partners, brothers in arms. And both were glad to be back in each other's company, intact and mostly unscathed.

The door to the room opened and Elizabeth walked in carrying two plastic cups of what Neal assumed to be cheap machine coffee. "Neal!" She exclaimed as she almost flew across the room to hug him. She set the cups down and gently embraced him. Neal inhaled her perfume. He recognised the subtle sweet scent of the perfume 'Beautiful'. For a moment, he felt like a small child again in his mothers arms, then she pulled away from him and cupped his face in her hands. "I'm so glad your safe."

An image flashed before his eyes, The Beholder standing above him, caressing his cheek. "Me too." He said. "Sorry I made you guys worry, and to have to drink that." Neal said pointing to the two steaming cups on the table beside him.

"I've drunk worse." Peter said, a smile in his voice, and came to stand on the other side of Neal.

"How long was I out for?"

"The rest of the night, at least some of us got some sleep." Peter joked, then continued more seriously. "The doctors said that once you woke up most of the drugs that were in your system would be gone, but they would want to check you over."

"I should go tell them your awake." Elizabeth said as she tucked a short piece of hair behind Neal's ear. It fell right out of place again, but Neal didn't think that was the point. She smiled at him one last time before leaving the room and closing the door behind her.

"You had me worried there for a while." Said Peter.

Neal pulled himself up on the cushions to gain a vertical view of the room instead of a horizontal one. "I was worried myself." The two men were silent for a moment, then Neal added "Peter," he hesitated, "Thanks."

"Don't mention it kido." Peter said ruffling his hair, a smile broadening across his face.

The room's door opened again and both men turned expecting to see Elizabeth. Instead, Hughes stood in the doorway. Both men spluttered at the sight. "Sir!" Peter said obviously shocked to see his boss visiting his ex-con partner. If Peter had still been sitting, Neal could have seen the man shooting up from his seat, and his chair being flung away by the force. "What are you- I mean." Peter stammered, obviously at a loss on how to address his boss out of usual circumstance. "Why are you here?"

Hughes stood in the doorway, his tiered demeanor saturating the energy from his surroundings, and stared at the two flabbergasted men. "I do get out of the office every now and then you know. You can stop gawking now." He exhaled noisily as he entered the room, his jacket tucked over one arm, and a small black box was held in his hand. He pulled at one of the vacant chairs and lowered himself into it gingerly.

Neal looked at Peter, Peter looked at Neal. Their facial expressions mirroring each others exactly. An uncomfortable silence settled over the room. The moments ticked by, Neal's eyes shifted to the door, then to Hughes and then to Peter.

Hesitantly Peter broke the silence. "Not that it isn't grate to see you Sir, but-"

"What am I doing here?"

"It's very thoughtful of you to come by." Said Neal. "But it is a little," He paused, trying to find the right word without offending Hughes.

"Irregular." Interjected Peter. Neal nodded his head in time with Peter.

"What, can I not visit a work colleague when he's been injured?" Hughes was a head figure, Neal didn't think he was the kind of man to just 'pop down' to see little old him. No, there had to be a bigger picture. "I brought a present for Caffrey from the Bureau." Said Hughes, shaking the box in his hands.

"That's it?" Peter said. He received a dark look from Hughes. He'd been too direct. Damn.

Neal beamed. Could he really be here to give him a present? "Well I'm flattered, you shouldn't have."

"No, I really should." Hughes said as he stood and presented the box to Neal. Neal took the box and opened it. Inside was a circular band, attached to it was a plastic electronic tracker. He should have known better. Hughes had just coned him into momentarily thinking he was getting a genuine get well present. Touché Hughes, thought Neal silently.

"Well, its not Tiffanie's, but your sure know the way to a gal' s heart." Neal said. He took out his 'gift' and gave it to Hughes's out stretched hand, who in turn lifted Caffrey's blanket and looped his new piece of jewelery around his ankle. The old one had probably been removed when he had entered A&E.

"I'm not just here to visit Caffrey." Hughes said. "You remember Daniel Picah?"

How could Neal forget? He was the owner of one of the jade elephants that he and Peter were once upon a time, tasked with to bring back to the Japanese. He had irritated Neal to no end, imitating him with his fedora hat. And he treated his art collection like furniture. "Real estate tycoon Neil Bluhm, was visiting his collection last night when they were attacked by two masked men. Pucah was kidnapped and Bluhm was put into hospital."

"And they brought him here?" Said Neal. Both men turned to look at him. "Don't get me wrong, this hospitals just _grate_, but a tycoon? Couldn't he afford privet health care?"

Peter was smiling at Neal, the kind of smile that could not resist from radiating from his lips when Neal made and inappropriate comment in front of the wrong company. Hughes glared at him, awed by the lack of respect that he demonstrated. Caffrey was smart, but sometimes his cavalier remarks made Reese wonder if the man said these things just to prompt a response. He was not going to indulge him. He continued as if Neal had never spoken.

"Nothing was stolen, we think, which is unusual in these circumstances considering the collection. I'm here because someone with enough credentials has to handle this case. Bluhm is a rising industrialist and will one day have a lot of influence that might be needed one day. Since most of my agents with the right qualifications," he said this with a poignant glare at Peter, "can't be pulled away from their cases, I had to come down and take his statement instead. Damn bureaucracy." Hughes did not look happy. In fact, he looked down right angry at being pulled away from his place behind a desk. Tasked with the mundane chore of having to take someone's statement, regardless of their position really seemed beneath him. Neal felt for the man whom had to brownnose with so many officials, he too hated bureaucracy, but that didn't mean he didn't understand the sway that it held.

Neal really wanted to pass comment, but a glare from Peter made him keep his mouth firmly closed. "Are there any suspects? Anything to go on?" Peter said.

"Not as of yet. But aside from that matter, Agents Durk and Huntington have been hounding me. They want to talk to Caffrey. He's the first victim of The Beholder's to remain intact." Peter started to interject but was hushed by a calm gesture from Hughes's. "Don't worry Peter, I told them they're just going to have to wait. But tomorrow, you're going to have them full on back at the bureau."

"Thank you," Said Neal. He was not sure if he was up to talking about what had happened just yet. Especially not with Agent Durk, or Huntington for that matter. He had to piece it together himself first. There were things that The Beholder said that just didn't add up. Like that, he had arranged to meet with Neal before he got sent away to prison, and Neal had cancelled. And the people he had killed were all re-enactments. Just what did it mean? Neal needed to take a step back and work it all out. Collect his thoughts, and then, maybe, he could talk about it.

Hughes patted Neal's leg, "I'm glad you're alright Caffrey." He said genuinely. For a moment, Neal saw the man behind the boss, and then he was gone. "I'll se you both at the office tomorrow. We can arrange a safe house for Neal, as well as everything else." Hughes looked tired as he muttered a goodbye, before trudging out of the room. Then again, he always looked tired.

Peter looked after his superior for a moment before turning to Neal. "Well, that was different."

Neal laughed as Elizabeth returned to the room with a nurse. She looked curious as to why Neal was laughing, but didn't question him. Instead, the nurse became center of attention when she addressed Neal. "Mr Caffrey, good to see you're awake. I'm Linda, would you mind if I took some blood?" Linda took charge strait away with obvious years of experience. And before Neal even had a chance to shake his head, she was at his sleeve.

A fleeting memory flashed before him, The Beholder grasping his arm trying to inject him on the couch back in the apartment. He closed his eyes and shook the sensation away.

Peter regarded Neal as the nurse took his blood. He didn't think that Neal would be squeamish when giving blood, but then he considered how he had found Neal the night before, being threatened with a syringe. If he had arrived there five minuets later, Neal would have been gone. He kicked himself again, he may have prevented Neal from being taken by The Beholder, but Neal would never have been put in that situation had Peter simply stayed with him.

"There we go, all done. We'll get these tested for you strait away. Now let me take a little look at you neck there." She said as she leaned in and with a proficient manner, and stripped off a bandage that Neal hadn't even realised was there. "Seems to be healing nicely Mr Caffrey." Linda smiled at him sweetly. He lifted his hand to feel the injury but it was slapped away by the nurse. "You'll get it infected. Honestly, what is it about boy's and picking at scabs." She joked as she applied ointment and a new bandage.

The room filled with polite laughter. The nurse, Peter observed, had grate bedside manners. She turned and addressed Peter, assuming he was the man in charge of Caffrey. "As soon as the results are back and we get an all clear I don't see why Mr Caffrey shouldn't be able to leave. As long as he has someone watching over him for the next twenty four hours he can go home."

"I don't think home is the best place right now." Peter said, thinking of June's spare room. Forensic were still in there combing for possible clues. He could just imagine the reaction Neal would have if he found out that the FBI were going through all of his belongings.

He received a curt slap on the shoulder from Elizabeth. "He has a place to stay." She said addressing the nurse, ignoring her husband's last remark.

"He does?" Questioned Peter, obviously clueless.

"Of course he does. Neal," She now turned to Neal, "Would you like to stay at our place for the night? Or until things get sorted and back to normal?"

Neal regarded Elizabeth; She was already nodding expecting his answer to be in the affirmative. He merely stammered. "I er-"

"Yes then its sorted. Neal will be coming back to our place. Who better then to look after him then an FBI agent, hm?"

* * *

As soon as Neal walked through the front door of Burke household, Sachmo was upon him, wagging his tail, excited at having company again. Neal leaned down and petted the dog, thinking how simple life was for the mutt.

Elizabeth then ushered Neal up to the guest bedroom while Peter lugged his bag up two flights of stairs behind them. They had stopped by Neal's apartment on the way back from the hospital and Peter had collected a few things for Neal while he stayed with them. When Neal had found out that the FBI was combing through his room he immediately thought of the file that he and Mozzie were compiling on the music box, among other miscellaneous. Most of his extra curriculum was hidden around the apartment, and Neal knew that the FBI could be thorough. He also knew that they could use the situation that had been provided to their advantage, and search areas that were usually out of bounds. Not in a situation to do anything about it, Neal could only hope that his hiding places were good enough to keep them from finding anything.

The Burke's spare room was cosy, and decorated in two-toned placid colours. Like the rest of the house, the furniture had an elegant but homely style. Large windows adorned with plain nets allowed the glow of the evening sun to shine into the room. A few box's labelled work were stacked to one side, and a small desk held an ancient Pentium PC. It's robust and out of fashion screen and tower dominated most of the surface. "Sorry about the mess. We haven't had someone stay in a while" Elizabeth apologised.

Peter followed them into the room and set Neal's bag down onto the unmade bed. "I'll just get you some fresh sheets as well." Elizabeth said. She smiled sweetly before leaving the room, returning moments later. "This is in case you feel like a shower before dinner." She said pointing to a towel that she had added to the top of the pile, "Im going to cook up some good old fashioned home cooking. Something tells me you guys could use a good meal."

"Thank you Elle, and Peter. Thank you both." Neal said. They both smiled before leaving him to unpack.

Alone, Neal took a moment. Sitting on the edge of the twin bed, he placed his head in his hands. He wasn't going to unpack much, he already felt odd about staying with Peter. But somehow it made him hopeful. Peter's house was the ideal home. If not for the décor, for the atmosphere that it provided. It was a happy home, one that housed good people. A part of Neal felt out of place, but another part wanted this kind of existence to be his life. This is what he wanted him and Kate to have one day. Somewhere to settle down. To create a life for just the two of them, no one interjecting their own agendas, no need to plan the next con. Possibly even start their own family. He could just imagine a little baby Caffrey with Kate's stunning features and his blue, blue eyes.

Neal pulled himself forcibly out of his daydream. Tears stung at his eyes that he didn't realise he needed to shed. He shook them away and decided to have that shower Elizabeth had suggested and wash away the previous day's events.

Once there, the hot water helped to regain a part of him that had been worn away. Afterward he felt like apart of the old Neal Caffrey was coming back. He dressed in a crisp white shirt and a pair of Epsom trousers. He brushed his dark hair back and allowed it to dry by its self.

When he made his appearance downstairs Peter was already in his slacks setting the table and Elizabeth was serving dinner. He felt a smile broaden across his face. This was home, he just hadn't realised it until now.

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**A/N: **AWE, So cute. I couldn't resist putting a cheesy moment in there. Hope you enjoyed. The reviews i received for the last chapter made me so happy, thank you infinity!

ghostdolly, you put a smile on my face for about 20 minuets.=) see, there it is.

Tello, you're fantastic, than you so much.

Itamaru, i watched the first episode recently and it made me think of you!

inlovewithfanfics & LittleBloodyJ, The fact that i got an A. M. A. Z. I. N. G!(spelled just like that) made my mind explode a little.

NayahReidWhumper xD, Thank you so much for the wonderful compliment. I'm still blushing. *^_^*

Seriously, the comments have been grate, thank you all so much. After reading the last chapters reviews, my fingers took on a life of there own when i was writing this.

~Chow4noW~


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N**. I give up, this isn't beta'd i apologize if this annoys you, but i hope that you can forgive me. Other from this, ENJOY!

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The meal that Elizabeth cooked was better then anything that Neal had eaten in a while, which was saying something. Neal ate, mostly with Mozzie, at some of the finest restaurants that New York City could provide. But it wasn't just the food. Throughout the meal, conversation had flown easily. There was no mention of work, white-collar crimes or criminals. And defiantly no mention of the past twenty-four hours. Instead, Elizabeth and Neal had talked about their favorite wines while Peter had described to them his preference of beer _over _wine. And naturally both men had complemented Elle on her fantastic cooking abilities between mouthfuls. She discussed the recipe, telling the two that it was one of her favorites as a child and her grandmother used to cook it for her. She then told Neal not to pilfer it. Neal professed his innocence and ignorance of even understanding what she meant. They had all laughed and Peter had said to Neal that it was no use, Elizabeth was smart and she knew of his tricks. She had been present the three years that he chased Caffrey and she knew every trick in his the book.

It was just what Neal needed. To be able to forget about everything and just enjoy the moment, no cloak and dagger, and no secrets. Even if it only lasted until Peter and Elle started to yawn, it was nice just to be himself for a short while.

When Elizabeth and Peter had started to clear up, he had insisted like the perfect guest that they both should retire and let him take care of the mess. After all, they had set up and cooked the meal that he had enjoyed; it was only right that he clean up afterward. Peter had only thrown him one speculating glare, before he and Elle had retreated upstairs.

When the kitchen was clean and all evidence of the wonderful evening had been cleared, Neal petted Sachmo good night and headed up stairs his room.

Now he had cleared his head it was time to think. He needed to piece together what the events of last night had meant and just what he was going to tell agent Durk and Huntington. But first things first. He sat on his bed and took out his mobile and started to dial Mozzie's current number. He changed them so often it was a wonder Neal still had a contact number for the quirky man.

Barley after one ring, it was answered. "Havishmen speaking."

"Mozzie it's me."

"Define me." Mozzie said speculation saturating his voice. Honestly, the mans paranoia astonished Neal to no end sometimes.

"Me Mozzie, common. Its Neal."

"How do I know you're the real Neal?"

"Really Mozzie?"

"Ok, ok." Puffed the man. Neal heard pages start to turn on the other end of the phone line. "The suit called. Told me what happened."

"Yeh." Neal said. He didn't know what to say, he wasn't going to talk much about what had transpired if he could help it. And Mozzie had known Neal long enough to know that he wouldn't divulge into his emotions that easily.

Mozzie continued in the presence of Neal's silence. "I went by your place, the FBI were there. Luckily for you, I got the file on the music box and everything ells I knew about. What got left behind should serve as a lesson that you should have trusted me more."

Neal smiled. Mozzie was fantastic, he would never tell him that though. "Thanks Mozzie."

"Your welcome."

"Listen," He now, whether he liked it or not had to delve into the aftermath of the clues that The Beholder had left behind. "Do you remember before I was sent to prison anyone that I may have canceled a meeting with?"

"Why do you ask?"

Neal sighed. Don't think about it, just say it, he told himself. "The other night. The Beholder said- When-." He took a breath and started again, "This all started when I took the McNeil painting. Do you remember that?"

"I always do. Wasn't this before you allegedly allowed your self to be caught and got your self sent to the stony lonesome?" Mozzie said, disbelief in his tone.

Not bothering to argue the long debated topic, Neal ignored his comment and continued. "Yes, it was just before. Apparently, this is when he first started-" Neal didn't want to sound conceited, and voicing the obsession The Beholder had over him made it a prominent reality. "-his fascination with me."

"Not nice having a stalker is it?"

Neal couldn't help it, a laugh escaped his lips as he uncomfortably itched his ear. "Not so much, no."

"So what did he say?"

"He mentioned Kate, he knew I stole the piece for her. Somehow. He said that I kept changing when we were to meet."

Neal heard Mozzie inhale a greedy helping of air. "This was when you were pulling the Victor Lustig scheme on The Mormon books. You had three Mr Smith 'originals', I say this with air quotation marks you understand."

"Yes Mozzie I can hear them over the phone." The ironic thing was there was no sarcasm in Neal's voice. He knew the dynamic man so well he could see him in one of his weekly titled accommodations making the gestures.

"All buyers were lined up ready and waiting. The exchanges were made to all three. Clean and easy. There was one other that was interested, but he never committed to the purchase, insisted on a preview. Could that be him?"

"What was his name?"

There was only a fraction of a hesitation before Mozzie replied. "Thelder Hobe."

Neal shut his eyes. "That's him."

"How did you-" A throaty groan sounded on the other end of the phone. "Anagram. Funny how the pieces of a puzzle can fall into place over the course of time."

"Hilarious. I'm starting to get the feeling that everything that this fanatic has done for the past four years is all my fault, directly or indirectly. He practically said as much."

"How so?"

"He said that all of the other victims were re-enactments. For me."

"Re-enactments, of what?"

"I'm not sure. All of the carnage that he's left behind him has so many differences." Neal thought of the case file that he had pilfered over the other day, of all the horrendous acts that had been committed by The Beholder. "It's nasty stuff Mozzie."

Mozzie could hear the hurt in his friends voice and wanted to offer solace the only way he knew how. "Where are you at the moment. Want me to come over? We can bemoan over a bottle of 92 Screaming Eagle."

"You have a 92 Screaming Eagle?"

"I do. Saved for a special occasion, or a calamitous one. I think this situation would apply."

Neal was impressed, that was a very lucrative bottle of wine. And moved at the gesture and felt guilty at having to tell him he was at Peter's, in consequence nullifying the offer. "I guess that's out then." Said Mozzie. "That's alright, another day perhaps." Neal knew that this was probably going to be the one and only offer that he would receive to taste the Eagle.

"Thank you Mozzie."

"Don't mention it. See you when I see you." He said before hanging up.

Even though he had slept well at the hospital, the serenity that he had felt upon waking had dissipated and now he felt drained. He pressed the buttons to lock his phone and slung it on top of his still mostly packed case. Rubbing his face and pressing his fingers into his eyes, he heaved a yawn and flopped back onto the bed.

Huntington and Durk were going to cross-examine everything that he said tomorrow. He was now intimately involved in their case and they weren't going to let him slip by without a full examination of everything he said. His behavior patterns would be examined, they would repeat, and repeat their questions to exclude any possibility that he might leave something out. He knew the drill. In their eyes, especially Durk's, he was first and foremost a criminal. And he would be treated as such. Except for Peter and those that he worked with closely, most federal agent only perceived him one way. He knew exactly what was in store for tomorrow. He did not want to face that world and wished that he could just stay here at the Burke household. Safe and protected.

* * *

Agent Durk and Huntington were already in the office when Peter and Neal had entered that morning. When Hughes had told them that they would be ambushed, he wasn't kidding. Both were lead to separate rooms upon arrival and gave their statements according to how each of them perceived their version of events. Peter with Huntington and Neal with Durk, much to his regret.

Peter told Huntington what had happened and that he had seen The Beholders face and could now identify him. They had arranged for a sketch artist to come in and create a drawing from what he said. He also mentioned the shirt that he was wearing the previous night, how when he had fought The Beholder, he had broken his nose and blood had saturated him. He had given it to one of the officers before he had followed Neal in the ambulance, hoping that by the next day forensic would have been able to cross reference the DNA and hopefully have a match. Huntington had confirmed this and that they were still waiting on the results.

Peter left the room after Huntington had dismissed him. He felt exhausted, but glad the grueling process was now over. Neal was still in the other room with Agent Durk. Jones and Lauren were congregating near the door trying to look casual as they eavesdropped in on the questioning.

"How's it going?" Peter asked them as he approached.

Lauren glanced up at him from a file that she had been pretending to read. Frown lines creased her brow as concern filtered across her features. "I don't think she's being too gentle with him." She said.

"What do you mean?"

Jones answered. "She's cross examining everything that he's saying. Making him repeat and then second-guessing what he is telling her. Neal's kept his cool, but if she doesn't lay off soon I think he might snap."

"It's a wonder he hasn't already." Added Lauren.

"Just what exactly is she saying to him?" Peter asked. Jones opened his mouth to respond but was halted as the door swung open and Neal stood in the archway. His usual charming carefree face was set like stone. A deep frown and a clenched jaw were set firmly into place as he glanced at the three of them. Barely sparing them a second glace, he walked past and strode towards the elevators of the office.

Durk marched out behind him and yelled, "Don't think that this is over! I have many more questions I want answering yet." she turned curtly; her short, hairspray clogged hair bobbing after her as she made her was back into the office.

Peter stared after Neal. His shoulders were tense and his frame was rigid as he irritably stabbed at the lift button, and when it didn't beckon to his call immediately, he turned and shoved himself through the stair-well door.

Just what the hell was that all about? Anger started to manifest in his chest towards Agent Durk. She was meant to be questioning him not interrogating him. Forgetting about his present company, he charged in to the small room behind her and shoved the door shut to make his presence known. "Just what was that?" He said, voicing his earlier thoughts.

"Don't stat with me Burke. Neal Caffrey is keeping information from us and I need to know what it is."

"I'm sure he's telling you everything he can. Just what do you expect him to do, get up on the table and re-enact the whole thing in damn sonnets!"

"I'm expecting a freaking break. I've been on this guy for years and he's given me nothing but grief. Now we get our first big lead and the only surviving victim is slamming the door shut on all of the answers." She was stacking papers and photographs that had been splayed across the table. Pictures of the previous victims, mutilated bodies, disfigured and twisted in their obscene and grotesque poses.

"You want a break?" He asked sceptically. He could find no sympathy for this cold and malice woman. "What about Neal? He's another victim, just like these poor people that you've spread out in front of him. And instead of trying to reassure him your threatening him with what he narrowly avoided becoming!" He said swiping his hand at some of the photographs, flicking them back across the table and some onto the floor.

She turned on him then, eyes ablaze with a new found furry, she screeched out. "He doesn't deserve that kind of consideration! He is a felon and from the minute amount of information that he told me, he practically invited The Beholder to prey on him."

Peter felt his blood boil. He could feel himself about to lurch across the table to throttle the women when the door blasted opened to reveal a steaming Hughes. "What is this! Burke," He barked. "My office, Now!" Peter's jaw clenched and he held his tongue. He had never heard his boss raise his voice before, and immediately he felt like a small child being scolded by his farther. Before leaving, he turned and glared at Agent Durk. Never before had he allowed himself to be so throttled by another person before.

He felt himself moving away from the scene in a haze. He was there but wasn't there. Anger fueled him as he paced Hughes's office waiting for his boss to return. Reese had remained with agent Durk after Peter had left. Thinking back Peter recalled Lauren and Jones were no longer standing out side the office, most likely they scattered when Hughes came charging.

But the nerve of that woman! How dare she imply that Caffrey was somehow less important of a human being, less deserving of her professional consideration? Did she really just see him as a criminal that got what he had deserved? And just what had she meant by Neal practically inviting him in? By stealing a painting?

This was so typical of Neal. In over his head, and all because of Kate. After all, he had stolen that damn picture for her to begin with. A part of him truly wanted to despise Kate for all of the despair that she had befallen on to Neal. And this was so typically a result of one of his cavalier gestures.

He ran his fingers through his hair and growled at the predicament of the situation. This wasn't going to end well. He had hoped that today might conform of: interview, evidence review, bad coffee, statistics gathered thus far and then make a plan to catch this bastard that had contorted their lives.

Hughes shoved the door open and glared at him as Peter wiped around to face his boss and the repercussions of his actions. "Sit down." He barked. Hughes walked into the office, and to Peter's surprise, Caffrey was in tow. "Both of you."

They both complied. Chairs squeaked as they sat as if representing the tension that each man brought to the room. Reese grumbled a bushed sigh. Time lapsed before them all. Neither partner dared break the silence that had descended upon them as Hughes fumed before them.

"You're both off this case-" Immediate utterances of protest of injustice were silenced immediately with the continuation of Hughes raised voice. "Effective immediately! Peter, so help me. Durk want's you off of this investigation and Caffrey in witness protection. He would disappear Peter." The realization sunk in. Neal was officially the property of the FBI. If they wanted, they could re-locate him anywhere they desired. Considering the circumstances, they would have full authority to do so and there would be nothing that Peter could do to stop it. "They're pushing for this. They want him safe. He's the closest link that they have to catching this guy and their not about to let him go."

Neal had tried his best to remain calm when agent Durk was questioning him. He used all of the techniques that were in his arsenal, but nothing would appease her. When she demanded that he wasn't telling her everything she had started to slam photographs into his face. Accusing him, judging him, telling him that he was no more important then any of these victims. He had denied that he wasn't telling her the truth. In regards to what had happened the night before he wasn't relenting any information. He even told her about the McNeil painting, though not the consequences that the action may have held. The fact that he might be responsible somehow for all of these victims was too much to bare.

He didn't want to admit the fact that his expertise had brought upon a rampage that he hadn't even realised was destroying peoples lives. Then she insinuated a comparison between him and The Beholder, how his criminal ways tore apart those that he targeted. That he was no different from the man that had committed these atrocities. He may have not have killed his targets, but he still made people suffer just like The Beholder.

She had hit too close to the truth, even if she hadn't known it. And she would only use it to her advantage if she found out Neal's feelings. Neal had left, unable to stomach her company and her allegations anymore. Apart of him felt sickened. Sick for feeling that on some level, she was right. He may make excuses about how he only targeted those that could afford it. Those that had deserved it. But who was he to judge? The consequences of his actions were, undoubtedly, bringing people suffering.

He had to push his guilt aside. Apart from Mozzie, he hadn't told anyone else the part that he had played at creating this beast. And the guilt of it was eating him alive. "Maybe I should be re-located."

Neal said in a dead tone. Perhaps that was a good enough punishment, the FBI could still use him, he might still be of some use. Maybe that would be that only way to redeem himself.

"No way." Peter interjected. "I'm not letting that pocket sized terrorizer take away my consultant."

"It's not going to come to that. Putting you two on this case was a mistake. I should never have caved into the request. You're off of this, is that understood? I don't want either of you investigating any further into this case." He said levelling his eyes at them. Both men nodded exasperated. "I'll see what I can do to keep Caffrey in our custody, but until I get an all clear I want you two working on something else." He paused. Neal could feel what Hughes would say next would be the equivalent of a judge passing a condemning sentence. "That Daniel Picah case, It's now yours."

* * *

A/N: Don't you just hate agent Durk at the moment? Hehe.

Tello! How can i resist mentioning your name! (secretly i crave your reviews, lol) More stuff is defiantly going to happen, all i can say is poor Neal. lol.

Itamaru, Im so glad your a fan of this story! I think that you will like what i have in store concerning The Beholder. ;P

Save the sharks, The Beholder will most certainly be back, but you will just have to wait to see if he gets Neal..Hehehehehe, evil laugh. (but of course he does, oh no, spoiler!)

Rae37, I will try!

inlovewithfanfics, I found myself with a large goofy smile when i read your review! Thank you so much!

Lily, Thank you for saying my story was tasefull! I think your the first to say this. It made me beam!

Lala, You + review = a very happy me ^-^

NayahReidWhumper xD, But wait! There's more! Hehe, there's much much more. Poor Neal. *evil laugh*

Thank you all so much!And feel free to hit that review button. Next Chapter will be up much sooner as i have all but given up on a Beta. (The infamous friend i mentioned is'nt in the country, so i will have to wait until she is back.)

~Chow4noW~


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